Somewhere All My Darkest Dreams Are Gathering
by chemicalflashes
Summary: "Just who are you?" she asks him, exasperated beyond measure. "I'm the wrench in the machine." He knows that soon he is going to be in a desperate need of money, and he is prepared to do anything to earn it. Survival is the only thing that matters. Nobody can stop him and nobody is going to find him. [dark themes/set in May-June 1997/decayverse]
**A/N: Dedicated to** _ **MissEmmaPerry**_ **for being the most awesome Dramione writer out there. You should really check out her story, 'All Things Questionable'. Her (very) long chapters have inspired me to write a story this long.**

 **I had to write this story after rereading the following lines from another story of mine - 'Firewhiskey And Fireplaces':**

 _'... He shrugs as if it does not matter how a sixteen year old boy knows how to make a liquor of such a strong essence. And how come it is not poisoning him? He could not have distilled it himself, could he?'_

 **Warnings:**

 **1\. Language (boys have filthy tongues, especially the high, drunk, cranky and insane ones. Our protagonist is a wicked combination of all the four, so yeah...)**

 **2\. Substance abuse**

 **3\. Darkness (Which is so common in my fics that it worries me)**

. . . ...

 _Somewhere All My Darkest Dreams Are Gathering_

 _(I can't escape my nightmares)_

••••••••••

 _"Like love and hate, there is a very fine line between genius and insane."_

— _**Anonymous**_

He contemplates starting a Potions Shop the day after Ginny has broken up with Dean, but the actual planning does not happen until a little more than two months later, after the night Ginny kisses Harry. His mind is like a deadly disease as it plans and plans and plans, thinking up all the possible loopholes.

Colin Creevey has always been adept at Potions. He supposes that is because it is somewhat like Chemistry, a subject that he really likes.

Call it intuition or Trawlney's blasted divination, but he is sure that soon he is going to be in a desperate need for money.

Something gnaws at the back of his head and tells him that he is not going to return to Hogwarts for his sixth year. They - he and Dennis, they will have to be on the run, but how could one do that with paucity of funds? His Mum and Dad are poor; milkmen do not earn much. Keeping them safe by sending them out of the country could alone use up more than half of their savings.

He is thinking of starting selling with Felix Felicis, Veritaserum, Birdsong, Witansy and Amour. Birdsong has hallucinogenic properties like LSD, but it is much better than any drugs. Under its dreamlike effects one can actually experience things. It is highly addictive, and out of the five, it is a part of the Ministry's Banned Potions List, right on the top.

Witansy is a memory potion which increases brain power temporarily, the duration depending upon how much one has taken, and Amour is a harmless but powerful love potion - a diluted version of the infamously notorious Amortentia. The best part is that the supplies needed to make all of them can be found in Slughorn's cupboards.

He has been making his own photograph developer potion since his first year. Professor McGonagall had been kind enough to convince Snape that the boy was not going to blow down his classroom in his absence. The dark haired man had reluctantly agreed. Now with Slughorn too, the deal is the same and he would be able to sneak away ingredients underneath the guise of making his potion.

The old man is absentminded. Colin is pretty sure he would not notice.

The main problem is contacting potential customers and setting up a workshop. The latter could be done in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, since nobody likes to visit it. He is thinking of identifying potential clients in the student populace and making them sign an indestructible document, making it clear that they could tell other students if they wanted to. People are notorious chatterers, sooner or later the news would spread, but there would be a pretty nasty clause attached with it: open your mouth to any professor to tell them who is behind it or where to contact him, and you will suffer even worse than Marietta Edgecombe.

And nobody wants to become another Marietta Edgecombe. He would probably review his anonymity policy again, though, before writing it down.

Of course, he is not going to reveal himself. He would have to work on a disguise too. This is clearly going to be a long process...

A tedious long process that is going to wear the hell out of him.

••••••••••

He spends the next day evaluating students while eating lunch. People do not notice him and those who do, call him names, like they usually do. He has stopped responding to them a long time ago, but it is hard to not do that.

Cho Chang and Draco Malfoy stand out as the particularly needy ones to him in the crowd.

Chang looks lost half the time. Her hair is usually splayed out, instead of being in a coiffed bun like it used to be, and all the colour has drained from her face. She does not talk to many people either.

Malfoy has dark circles under his eyes, similar to his own, probably from being sleepless on many nights at a stretch. His complexion is paler than usual and he always seems to be in a sullen mood, even with his group of cronies.

Romilda Vane seems to be a good candidate too, with her proclivity to get into trouble. The incident with Ron Weasley that happened this school year came to light only because of its seriousness. Many people have been victims of Vane's love potions (which are usually sourced from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes in Diagon Alley), not that the professors know of these incidents. He is sure she would be really delighted to find _better_ potions _inside_ the Castle. It would certainly save her a lot of trouble.

Well, out of the three, he would try out Chang and Vane. If his business is successful and Malfoy comes later to him, begging on all four feet, then he would outrightly reject his pleas; it would serve the snooty brat a lesson for calling him a mudblood all these years. Then he would obliviate him.

Colin wonders when he became so extraordinarily cold. He has not always been like this. Not in the beginning, at least. He remembers being excited as hell on receiving his letter and smiling widely all the time. He remembers having good times with a certain redhead. Always snapping photos. He remembers staring into the eyes of Death as an eleven year old and still coming back for more. He remembers spinning lies in his letters to his parents, telling them that everything was fine just so he could return each year to this awesome school.

Most of all, he remembers smiling. Smiling and smiling and smiling, never ceasing to stop, like an infinite loop that goes on.

Now there is no more excitement and the truly happy smiles are far in between. The most he comes close to smiling is a grin aimed at his brother when he tells Colin his tales of chasing Orla Quirke.

When he had first arrived here, the Sorting Hat had told him that he could be at home in any four of the houses, and he had said, "Even Slytherin? But I am not cunning at all!" remembering the knowledge that he had scourged from _Hogwarts: A History_.

Of course, now he realises that it had been lying and probably just trying to make him feel better because it knew that he belonged nowhere. Except for a few people, nobody treated him warmly, not even his own housemates. The Hat had asked him where he wanted to be and he had dumbly answered Gryffindor because it was Harry Potter's house. Fat lot of good it has done him.

At some point in time, his loyalties have changed from the Boy Who Lived to Hogwarts as a whole. He had never used to feel at home in the Muggle world where he had been ruthlessly teased and sometimes even got labelled as a freak. And while things are not any better here - in fact, they are worse; a lot of people hate him for his mere existence, but still, he is among his own kind. This School is his home and he knows he would willingly give away his life to protect it if he has to.

Colin eats a spoon or two of his porridge and then leaves it. From his trouser pocket, he surreptitiously brings out his faithful journal and a Muggle ballpoint pen - a blue bodied Parker - the only piece of fancy stationery in his possession. He is half afraid that his brother, who is sitting a little away from him among his small group of friends, would notice it. This journal is a secret. The knowledge inside it is not readily decipherable by everyone, since only lefties like him would be able to immediately recognise that it is in mirror writing.

Inside it are present advanced curses, methods to make drugs, fatal toxins and countless recipes of illegal potions, most of which he has stolen by sneaking into the Restricted Section. This has only been a meaningless hobby until now, but now it is going to take a whole new meaning. Inside the diary are also his thoughts which plague him. He is going to burn the thing at the earliest opportunity. He has memorised the things he needs and he does not need a reminder of his failures on a daily basis.

With the pen, he notes down Chang's symptoms. He is sure she would immediately accept an offer of Birdsong if he is discreet about it.

That evening, Colin goes to inspect Moaning Myrtle's lair. As soon as he steps in, he rushes out. Malfoy is talking to Myrtle! And that too peacefully and without any contempt. Doesn't Lord Peroxide realise that Myrtle Warren had been a mudblood? In all seriousness, the guy is a walking show of hypocrisy.

They are talking in friendly tones; she is consoling him regarding something. What, he can't make out. The gregarious nature of their conversation implies that these visits have been going on for some time now. This also means that he cannot use the bathroom for his motives.

"Damn you, Malfoy," he grumbles and plods down the corridor. For a small moment he thinks about using the delightful Room of Requirement. Common sense quickly tells him that that would be a very bad idea since everyone in the DA knows about it. It would be too dangerous.

••••••••••

Colin has run covert operations before, like the one in which he had made Firewhiskey some two months ago.

Turns out you just need a bunch of grapes stolen at breakfast, some yeast stolen from Slughorn, some essence of Asphodel (again stolen from Slughorn), knowledge of the Gemino Curse so that you could multiply the grapes, a reserved stall in your dorm's bathroom, and a great sense of timing for the distillation of the end product, so that you could fool Slughorn into thinking that you were making your photograph developer potion. Since both are the same colour - crimson - nobody ever caught you.

The substance had certainly helped him and a certain Dean Thomas after Ginny's very public (and in his opinion, very risqué too) proposal to Harry after the final Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match, though it had not gone well with her once she had discovered them stoned in the morning.

He is sitting in the far corner of the Library, faraway from Madam Pince's strict gaze. His head is bent over a boring thick volume called, 'A 1000 Secrets Of Hogwarts That You Didn't Know'. It looks interesting on the outside with its glossy cover, but inside, that is clearly not the case. The author is a liar for claiming that it is 'much better than _Hogwarts: A History_ '. He barely stifles a yawn from escaping his mouth by covering it with his hand. Colin has been sleep deprived a lot lately and his eyes are nearly bloodshot. The purple dark circles underneath them are just another reminder.

The bloody book is not telling him anything useful. Looks like that he would have to stay content with the bathroom stall and pray that no one discovers it.

He sighs as he closes the book with a thump and glances around. The Library is bustling with people. The students near Madam Pince are causing some sort of chaos and she is threatening them with detentions. Perhaps this is a good time to sneak into the Restricted Section to look up better texts. So he gets up and discreetly crawls over to the other side, trespassing the rope which separates the dark section from the rest of the Library.

Ugh. Hermione Granger, who has been sitting in the corner of the section, is now staring at him, her prefect's badge glaring ominously at him along with her strict eyes.

"I," he invents wildly, "was wondering if you - "

"No, I don't know where Harry is and might I- "

"Goddammit, everything I do isn't about him, woman!" he scoffs and momentarily revels in the surprised, wide-eyed look she sends his way. "I am just looking for my lost quill. Goodbye," he adds sarcastically.

The stall will have to do, he decides and clutches his forehead to control the pain shooting rapidly through it.

••••••••••

"Are you sure you are fine, Colin?" Dennis asks him during dinnertime.

"Yes," he grumbles in reply as he downs his Pumpkin juice.

"You sure don't look like it."

"Well, this is my O.W.L. year after all," he lies easily. "Everybody is tired. Look around." He waves his right hand in the general direction of the Gryffindors sitting at their table.

"I have! Okay? And none of them look as haggard as you," his brother counters. "Your best friend, Ginny is smiling at something Harry said and her skin is not deathly white like yours. She is _smiling_. You don't even smile anymore. Not like you used to, anyway."

So Dennis has noticed. Of course, he had to; he is his only brother.

Colin looks away.

"She isn't my friend anymore. Ever since last year, when I told her that Michael Corner was not right for her. We haven't talked since then."

"Oh, Colin, I - "

"Save it, Den."

••••••••••

That night, he doubles the protective enhancements on his stall. There are five of them, and the corner one has been his since first year. The other boys never bother locking theirs and until this year, even he did not. Of course, they had played pranks on him as a result of it. They hate him and enjoy his misery. Why do his (far too few) friends have to be in the other Houses?

One time in his third year, his awful dorm mates had rubbed soap on the whole of the tiled floor of his stall. As soon as he had run the shower, he had slipped with a mighty thud and hurt his back. He had heard the distinct sound of their laughter over the noise of the rushing water, and when he had exited, he had tried to hold his head high, but the nasty tears had pricked his eyes, anyway.

Now their practical jokes have stopped but their foul words have not. He suffers a bout of it the very next morning. It goes like this:

"Why have you started locking your stall, Creevey?" Ryder Jameson, a burly boy clad in a towel, asks him mockingly. "So that we would not see the Temple of Potter that you have created in there?"

There are loud snickers from the other three. Those three, like Jameson, are not dressed either.

Colin does not dignify him with a response and continues combing his hair.

"Hey, I am talking to you!" Jameson yells and gives him a particularly hard push on the shoulder which causes him to stumble backwards.

His hand twitches to bring out his wand from his robe's pocket and hex the idiot into oblivion, but he does not do it. One wrong move could send these idiots running to McGonagall and then his cover would be blown. He would be forced to unlock the door and show her the things he keeps in there. That would lead to expulsion, and that is a path he would rather not tread.

He settles for unsettling glaring instead and stays silent. His tactic is ineffective on the dunderheads.

"Oh, so the Temple exists!" another boy called Lewis Macmillan shouts out, the glee in his voice evident. "And here we were just _speculating_."

"Your speculations are wrong, you fucking bastards!" he snaps finally.

"Say that again, you fag?" Freyan Ulothrix, another one of the boys, snarls.

"I just said that your speculations are wrong. You. Fucking. Bastards. Lost our hearing, have - "

He receives a punch in his stomach from Jameson before he can complete his sentence and falls onto the moist ground. In that humiliating moment, Colin wishes more than anything to be able to do wandless magic like the wizards and witches of yore. They kick him until they are satisfied. When they finally leave him, he is sore all over and the pain is cracking him.

"Forgotten the old times, have you, Creepy Creevey?" one of them asks. He does not know which one. His head is spinning.

They are laughing, but he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing his tears, simply because there aren't any. He remembers his old maxim:

 _You're not human; you're machine._

"No," he manages to whisper from his position on the floor, answering the question. "But times change," he adds courageously, a madman's smirk dancing upon his lips

"We're sparing you today, you good for nothing wanker, since we're getting late for breakfast. There'll be bad consequences," another voice replies. This time he recognises it to be Macmillan's. In the next instant, the bullies run away.

"Come on, Creevey," he mutters, "Get up. Don't let these idiots have the satisfaction of a win."

Colin enters the Great Hall looking like hell. His robes look too loose on his sickeningly wiry frame and his dull brown hair is falling in his eyes. He is clutching his stomach because it hurts and every single step feels like walking upon an array of knives. He ignores his tormentors' disgustingly happy faces when he passes them.

He sends one longing glance towards Ginny. Her brown eyes meet with his bloodshot ones for an achingly brief second and then immediately go back to gazing lovingly at Harry. It seems that she is never going to talk to him; she might have done it before, when the only cause of tension in their friendship had been her relationship with Corner.

But she is certainly not going to listen to him after that night long drinking fest which he had initiated and participated in with Dean Thomas and after which he had directly disobeyed her orders and refused to explain his actions.

As he settles beside Dennis and his friends, he wills his hand to leave his stomach and hold a spoon. He does not want another round of Twenty Questions from his brother like last night.

But Dennis is not to be fooled.

"You look even worse than yesterday."

He blatantly ignores him.

"Are you even hearing me?"

He raises one single eyebrow and proceeds to glare at his brother.

"I was up all night, okay!" It is true.

His sudden outburst quietens him. A tiny voice in the back of his mind contempts him and makes him feel guilty for snapping like this; Dennis is only trying to be helpful. But he does not do anything about it. He would say a proper apology later.

The tiny voice tells him that he would forget doing so.

••••••••••

Slughorn stops him after class that day.

"I can't believe I have never asked you this before, Mr. Creevey, but would you like to be a member of my Club?" The old man is smiling widely.

He nervously clutches his satchel. Being in Slug Club would mean being under greater scrutiny of Slughorn and that in turn would convert as having less time for his own goals.

"Thank you, but - "

"Only Lord knows how much you're in need of fun. Your face is telling me."

"I think I'll pass, Professor."

The man stares at him as if he has seen a ghost for the first time.

"You would be insane to not accept."

"With all due respect, Professor, everyone has told me exactly the same."

When he exits, he finds his old enemies waiting for him outside the classroom. They are a gang of pureblood elitists from Slytherin that have believed in hexing and abusing him since his first year.

"The mudblood has got a detention, has he?" one of them remarks gaily.

He grits his teeth and walks away. He knows that none of them have the guts to harm him with Slughorn still being inside the classroom.

••••••••••

After writing up all his essays in the afternoon while sitting in the Common Room, he sets upon the hard job of framing his policy document. After a little more than half an hour, he gives up. Those who would sign the document would be bound to not tell the Professors, but what about those students who they would tell? He cannot order his clients to not tell others, otherwise how would his business expand?

He has never been good with legal and political terms and back in his small town's Muggle school, he struggles with Civics and History when he takes summer classes.

Besides, having such a document could endanger both him and his clients. Whoever has heard of drug dealers writing contracts with their customers?

He decides that he would rather focus on disguising himself and start the actual potion manufacturing.

But if there is no threat, he wonders, would not righteous and obedient students go off running to their respective Head of Houses?

Colin bangs his head on the table repeatedly. A few first years along with Romilda Vane and Dennis give him strange looks, but do not dare interfere. He stops when he realises that he must have written some security and protection charms in his journal.

There is still a solution to this irritating puzzle and he can try solving it one last time. So he fetches his journal from his trunk and pours over its slightly yellowed pages and his scribbles in it. He does not need to look up to know that Dennis is regarding his journal curiously. He would probably have to lie later.

He finds his answer after an hour. It is written in black ink, but it might as well as have been etched in gold.

 _Adiuro Vos Hoc_

It is a networking spell of dark origins which had been used by spies in the old days to preserve sensitive information among themselves. In those days, it roughly worked like this:

Once somebody agreed to keep a secret, the spell was automatically cast upon them by a mere touch of the one who wanted them to keep a secret. Anybody they were authorised to tell could know it from by the same process and directly come under the influence of the spell and thus, they too were bound by its conditions. The usual punishment for opening your mouth to the wrong person was being awarded a slow and painful death in which your body perished.

It is genius.

It is insane.

And it is downright evil.

He likes it very much.

(He would reluctantly change the last part to something less deadly, obviously.)

The plan sets off in motion that afternoon itself when he decides he would start making Birdsong and Amour first.

He can see some part of his dream becoming solid reality. It is four o'clock, a time during which the Potions Master always goes off to doze in his chambers.

In his excitement to bring the ingredients for the two potions from the Potions Classroom he does not realise when he bumps into Ginny Weasley. Their fingers brush for a few seconds and he feels a rush of warmth spread throughout his arm. She does not even spare him a glance.

Ginny rushes away before he can even utter, 'I'. He keeps staring down the corridor long after she has walked away and only a cool wind is able to bring him back to reality.

Colin punches the wall. "Damn it!"

It hurts so bad and he forces his mind to shut down its emotions. He has suffered enough and he would try to not think more about her. It does not stop hurting though.

When he goes ingredient hunting in Slughorn's supplies cupboard (the man never locks it) his brain is only focused upon Birdsong and Amour's constituents.

Rose thorns, peppermint, moonstone, atropine, morphine, leaves of dittany, snakewood, wormwood, dried petals of black Dahlia...

The list goes on and on.

All of the vials and pouches get stored in his robe pockets and after fifteen minutes, he emerges successful from his mission. He pats himself on the back before rushing out and dashing up the stairs to the Tower.

His roommates are waiting for him like a pack of hungry wolves when he enters his dorm, blocking his path. He can almost imagine the saliva dripping from their rabid mouths.

"Look who's here," the pack leader, Macmillan is saying. He is smirking.

All of them give him feral grins. He is not going to back down, so he throws an even more feral one right back at them. They approach him but he does not back away like he used to do. Only this morning he has stated that times change, and he is going to make sure that these brutes learn it.

He disillusions himself with a deft flick of his of wand and dashes for the bathroom before they can understand what is happening. They realise this a second too late and run after the sharp sound of his footsteps tapping against the floor, but it is too late; he has already locked himself in the safety of his stall. They kick the door but it is to no avail.

"How long can you hide in there, you son of a bitch?"

He grins when he hears them walking away but then, his head aches suddenly. The pain is absolutely powerful and he is forced to push his forehead against the cool, tiled wall. His vision is blurring; his hands and feet feel heavy. All his bones are creaking; his skull is exploding.

Why is he losing his footing? Why is he falling?

Probably need some Draught of Peace, is his last thought before hitting total darkness.

••••••••••

Moonlight is streaming in from the window high up on the wall when he finally opens his eyes. At first he fumbles in the semi-darkness of the stall and struggles to find his wand which is lying somewhere on the ground.

Colin floods the place with light when his fingers finally clasp around that reassuringly solid piece of wood. The time seems to be ten o'clock-ish and that means he has missed dinner and more than a quarter of his Astronomy lesson. Professor Sinistra is going to bite off his head with her scoldings. That also means that nobody is going to be present in his dorm till midnight.

So he takes a shower and changes into his pajamas. Then he takes a clean set of clothes with himself into the stall and hangs them on the hooks attached to the door. The dirty ones get dumped into the basket outside. The cauldron is filled with water and a heating charm is spelled on it. Finally, he is ready to brew his potions.

When he sees the iridescent mother-of-pearl sheen of Amortentia two hours later, he smiles and tries to not think too much about what he is smelling. Its fragrance seems to smell like petrichor, dittany and a certain redhead's lilac scented shampoo. He carefully dilutes it with water while constantly stirring and gradually the solution turns translucent with only a tinge of colour. Perfect Amour is ready to be used.

Colin pours the potion into a flask and scrubs the cauldron clean. Then he sets upon the tough task of making Birdsong. The snakewood is chopped and allowed to absorp atropine and the same is done with the dittany and morphine. The thing is only half done when the moonlight changes to amber sunlight. His dorm mates are not going to be up anytime soon and he feels it would be in his best interests to escape now.

He fixes his appearance to the best of his abilities and packs a sample of Amour in a vial. He then proceeds to rummage through his trunk and takes out one of his ridiculously long scarves, a hat and a pair of large, black goggles that cover more than half of his face. He stuffs them into his satchel along with his books and essays and for the first time in many days, hangs his camera on his shoulder too. He quickly sneaks out into the Common Room.

Dean Thomas is sitting in one of the armchairs. They nod at each other.

"Creevey."

"Thomas."

It is awkward - it always has been like that since the night they drank and fell out with Ginny Weasley. His feet lead him out before his mouth can utter anything else and before he knows it, he is in the empty Great Hall. The charmed ceiling shows him a rising sun surrounded by cottony white clouds and it feels as if it is mocking him by appearing happy and glowing.

He goes and sits on the Gryffindor table, his feet resting on the bench and snaps out a piece of parchment and a quill from his satchel. He settles the satchel in his lap and the parchment over it and begins to write.

 _You cannot tell the information disclosed by me to any of the professors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, any of the prefects, the Head Boy and the Head Girl, Albus Dumbledore, Rubeus Hagrid, Argus Filch, Madam Pomfrey, any of the ghosts residing in the School or any Ministry officials. The punishment for going against this is permanent lacerations and wounds on the face and the whole of the body, that is, permanent disfigurement. You can, however, tell it to your peers in a discrete and responsible manner._

Satisfied with his work, he brings out his wand and runs it over his words while repeatedly muttering, " _Adiuro Vos Hoc_." A silver flare grows from the tip of his wand and finally spreads all over it and his arm before dying out in the next second. The conditions have now been imprinted in his speech. The charm would activate whenever he would start speaking about his deal. Colin sets the parchment on fire with a simple _Incendio_.

He smirks.

Stage One is finally complete.

Now all that is left is to complete the Birdsong and trapping Romilda Vane and Cho Chang.

"That's going to be _really_ easy," he mutters sarcastically.

••••••••••

During Herbology that morning, he writes a note for Vane.

 _Dear Romilda_

 _I think I am in love with you, but you never notice me. Will you care to meet me on the sixth floor in the corridor with the blank white portrait at seven o'clock? I know it's abandoned, but please don't think I'll harm you. How could I?_

 _Your Secret Admirer_

 _P.S.- Please don't show this note to your friends._

Colin rolls his eyes at the lovey-dovey stuff he has made up and reads it again. He is sure that a young and desperate girl like Vane ( _especially_ Vane) is going to dash to the rendezvous point once she receives the note.

When classes are finished for the day, he begins the hard task of tracking her down. The task is made harder by the fact that he is carrying heavy books along with his journal and pen in his arms. His satchel is heavy too and his camera (which is hanging on his shoulder) - an Argus Matchmatic C3 - is not called 'The Brick' for no reason. When he finally finds her, it is about five o'clock and she is sitting alone on the edge of the pier on the banks of the Black Lake. The hot summer breeze is ruffling her black hair.

"Vane!" he calls out as he approaches her. She turns around her head in response. Her face is shining in the dusk.

"What is it, Creevey?" She is sneering.

They have never thought highly of each other since that 'Who's Harry Potter's biggest fan?' argument back in 1993, when he had still been a naïve kid in awe of Harry Potter and the wizarding world in general, because he had told her that she was a desperado. She in return had called him queer.

"I have got a message for you."

"Who is it from?"

"I don't know, okay? His face was all covered up."

He bends down to her eye level and retrieves the note from his pocket. Due to this, most of the books from his arms tumble down and he murmurs profanities under his breath. Colin quickly hands over the piece of parchment to her and hurriedly starts gathering his fallen books. Vane does not move even an arm to help him, instead of that she reads the fake declaration of undying love.

"Are you sure you don't know?"

He can tell from her tone that she can barely contain her happiness and excitement.

"Yes!" he snaps and picks up his journal. He wants to get away from her. Fast.

When he is some twenty feet away from her, she calls out, "I think you forgot something!"

He groans, not in the mood to go back, but when he turns around to see her walking towards him, he freezes. She is fingering his Parker.

"I didn't know that Muggle biros are allowed in Hogwarts, even if they are Parkers." She gives him a charming smirk (Since when are smirks charming?) as she puts the pen into his shirt pocket and gives it a pat. He looks at her incredulously.

"How do you even know what it is?"

The smirk changes to a smile. It is a smile that might mean anything.

"My dad's a Muggle. Best of both worlds."

"Oh," is all that he can breathe out.

As he walks away finally, he mutters to himself.

"And I've got the worst of both worlds."

When he finally reaches back his dorm, he finds his foolish dorm mates waiting for him like a pack of hounds as usual. And you know what, he is done with this nonsense. It is high time for the roles to reverse. Threats of McGonagall be damned. So he dumps his books, camera and satchel on the floor and brings out his wand from his pocket.

The four of them start before he does. He manages to create a shield in the nick of time.

"You can't even do the Disarming Spell! We're going to crush you!" Macmillan yells.

Colin frowns. Yes, he cannot do it. It is the truth. But it is not the _only_ thing that is true.

He runs to the right, hides behind the nearest cover possible - a trunk, and tries a reliable spell that never fails him.

" _Impedimenta_!"

Ryder Jameson goes down in a mess of squiggly limbs.

In another try, Freyan Ulothrix is out too. Only two are left now - Lewis Macmillan and Timmy Higgs.

"Is that the only thing you can do, Creevey?" Macmillan shouts before sending a _Stupefy_ his way. Colin ducks before it hits him, trying to concentrate on eliminating Higgs. He swiftly searches his trouser pockets for any object and comes up with a sickle.

"Perfect," he whispers before casting the Gemino Curse on it and standing up, simultaneously creating a shield around himself. Sweat is pouring down his face.

"No," he screams, answering Macmillan's earlier question. "That's not all what I know. Got quite a few aces up my sleeve." He winks. "Hey, Higgs, catch!" he adds and throws the sickle towards the boy.

The fool catches it.

In no time, the coin starts duplicating itself. Colin is guffawing at their confused faces as piles of sickles start covering their feet. They clearly are unaware of what just hit them.

He hurriedly obliviates the four of them and runs out, closing the door behind him.

"Get crushed to your deaths, you pigs!" he mutters while leaning against the wooden door. Of course, he does not mean it; he is just a madman, not a murderer. On the other hand, he can stop the curse himself, but why should he? Why not let the brats choke and suffer for some time?

He breaks into a sprint. Colin has approximately a fifteen minute time gap before they actually die and he pants and heaves on the long way to McGonagall's office. He does not knock before entering.

"Professor, the Gryffindor Tower, now! It's an emergency!"

Thankfully, the old lady complies without any unnecessary questions.

In the hour that follows, Colin earns twenty points and gets branded as a responsible boy by the Professor, though she does tell him that it was careless of him to lock the door behind him. The idiotic quartet are admitted to the Hospital Wing for at least a week with a range of problems: from sickles in the alimentary canal and psychological trauma to breathing problems and faulty legs ("Looks like the Jelly Legs Jinx. Were they duelling each other, Mr. Creevey?"), where they are told that they would be serving detention for a month for committing 'the grave offence of misusing magic to create counterfeit money'.

In all this rush, he almost forgets to meet Vane.

••••••••••

It is a little later than seven when he reaches the meeting point. She is already waiting for him in the moonlit darkness of the corridor. He is clad in his hat, goggles and scarf. Barely any skin can be seen and he is feeling like a character called The Invisible Man from a novel of the same name by H. G. Wells.

"Sorry, I am - "

"Are _you_ my 'Secret Admirer'?" Vane somehow manages to sound all hopeful, screwed up and sceptical at the same time.

"Fuck no." His voice is muffled by the scarf. "I just sent you that note through Creevey so that you would come here. You aren't exactly unknown for your fascination with boys and I have a deal for you."

Her full pink lips form a thin line and she glares at him. It is like staring into the eyes of doom.

"Are you asking me to shag you?" she asks angrily, her eyes wide.

"No, silly girl! That note was a lie. Remember that. I am here to sell you a love potion. Interested?"

She raises one perfect eyebrow and her lips leave their frown to rest in a neutral expression. It is quite a phenomenon to watch.

"Only if yours is any better than the Wheezes' ones."

"Trust me, it is. Would you rather use Amour or their _Twilight Moonbeams_?"

Vane's eyes widen yet again due to hearing the name of his product.

"I trust that's a yes. Here - " his hand fumbles in his trouser pocket before retrieving the vial, " - have a free trial. Meet me here again at the same time tomorrow." Colin catches hold of her hand and thrusts it into her open palm. Her skin is soft and warm. He does not ponder over it.

"I have got a much better idea."

"And what might that be?"

"I can be your informant and distributor."

"I don't need any such people! I can work alone."

She circles him slowly, viewing him curtly through her feline eyes. "Think about it though. Who's going to meet you up here? No one. By your creepy getup, I can infer that you want to remain unknown. Who's going to talk to a faceless person? No one. By the sudden hum in my ears, I can guess that you've used the Spy Networking Spell to protect yourself. Don't look at me like that, my ancestors were Gypsies, I know a lot. Anyway, for that thing to be initiated, the person needs to be touched, like you just did when you gave me the vial. But who's going to let you touch them? No one, because they're probably never going to turn up in the first place. Everybody's not me."

"Because everybody's not a fool," he grits, but inwardly he is agreeing with her. She does have a point.

The girl smirks. In the semi-darkness, anyone could mistake it for a smile.

"Face it, Mystery Man, you need a face to run your business. I am approachable, I am amicable, and I have a pretty face. You need me."

"You're not pretty and I don't need you."

She waves her hand in the air and remarks nonchalantly, "Oh, keep yourself telling that."

"And even if I did agree to make you my partner," he retorts, "from where in hell will I pay you?"

"Who said I wanted to take money?"

••••••••••

As Colin completes the half made Birdsong that night, he cannot, cannot believe what he has done.

He told everything to Vane. Well, everything except who he really is.

He wonders if he is going soft. Had it been her mysterious smile that had momentarily wired up his brain in all the wrong ways and made him lose control of his stupid tongue?

Colin cannot say for sure. He does not know.

When the potion is complete, it turns a midnight black and he is forced to remember her shining eyes upon seeing it. He remembers how his babbling mouth told her that he was also planning on selling Felix Felicis, Witansy, Veritaserum and Birdsong along with Amour. He remembers how she had told him that he was playing with fire, to which he had replied, "No, I am playing with smoke."

Whatever _that_ means.

Now he is pouring some of the black substance into a vial for Vane so that she could coerce Cho Chang into taking it tomorrow. He has told her that he would give it to her at ten in the morning, just before the gates to Hogsmeade open.

But that would not happen unless he tests it first; it is a dangerous potion and he is not about to put people's lives in danger. He might be insane, but he is not a psychopath.

His empty dormitory is peaceful without the presence of those four interfering goons. For the first time in many days, he laughs. He is laughing at their fate and the sound reverberates throughout the hollowness of the room.

Colin stops abruptly to do the task at hand - the testing of the Birdsong.

He brings the flask near his mouth with shaking fingers. Just a little, he tells himself. But it ends up being a lot. The rich, dark liquid stings horribly as it makes its way down his throat, leaving a strangely cool sensation in its wake. It is loveliness in the midst of disaster.

It is a beacon in the midst of fog.

He sees red hair flowing with the wind and a girl with freckles. He sees stars burning bright in the purple darkness of the universe. He sees green skies and azure rivers. The girl is always by his side, floating along with him in the ether of this messy reality, where time does not pass and he can be with her for an eternity without her lover.

She smiles (and he loves, loves, _loves_ it) and her chocolate eyes are sparkling as she gazes at him and he is falling, falling, falling...

••••••••••

The next morning, he finds himself on the ground with drool coming out of his mouth and his feet entangled in the sheets which he has dragged down with himself. For a moment, he cannot realise where he is - everything looks blurred at edges and the colours are all washed out.

Then he glances up at his bedside table and sees the large flask with the black liquid inside it.

Things start clicking.

The Birdsong has been brewed perfectly, he concludes as he somehow manages to heave himself up. He will give the vial to Vane so that she could hand it over to Chang.

He can almost imagine her marching up to him, and valiantly saying, "I did it. I convinced her, now where's my promised supply of Amour?"

Colin grins.

••••••••••

It is the end of May and his O.W.L.s are going to begin soon. And yet, here he is, sitting on the floor with Romilda Vane in the abandoned corridor on the sixth floor. A piece of parchment lies between them. It contains the list of orders that he has to complete within the next week.

Their business had begun approximately two weeks ago and now it has most definitely grown. All of Vane's friends are fans of his love potion because it is really cheap and really effective. As the exams near, orders of Witansy and the Felix have also started coming in. Sometimes he also gets a few orders of Veritaserum. People use it on unsuspecting victims while playing Truth and Dare, or so Vane tells him. The best part is that everyone involved knows about the spell that has been placed upon them. He admits that he had underestimated her.

He can safely say that he is rolling in galleons.

He can also safely say that she is rolling among boys, or rather, the boys are rolling after her.

"I saw Terry Boot kissing you yesterday. Not genuine, I suppose?"

"Since when is it?" she replies while lazily regarding her nails. "By the way, Chang wants you to double her dose."

"Not happening. It could be fatal."

"I told her the same, but she won't budge."

"Well, it's still not going to happen."

"She also wanted to know who you are." Her eyebrow is twitching.

"You're lying. Chang isn't concerned about anything except her daily dose of Birdsong. _You_ on the other hand are clearly ena - "

The sound of approaching footsteps makes him stop speaking. Both of them freeze. People never come here, not even the prefects on patrols. Have they been busted?

He makes work of it quickly and hurriedly stuffs the list of orders in one of his robe pockets, stands up, takes her hand and makes her stand up too with a rough jerk. His right hand goes around her petite waist and brings her close to him in such a way that her hips touch his and her head rests on his scarfed collarbone. His left hand disillusions both of them with a single wave of his wand.

Turns out they have not been caught.

Because it is not a pair of prefects that has been tailing them. No, it is a pair of hormonal teenagers snogging each other.

More specifically, it is Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley.

The pair of them are quite lost in each other. Colin silently scoffs at them.

"Don't they just make you blanch?" he mutters venomously in Vane's hair.

"Yes," she whispers back, equally venomous.

"Come on," he sighs. It seems that any spirit that he had has left him and he droops like a wilted flower. "Let's go."

Later that night, he burns his journal, partially out of rage and partially out of regret.

••••••••••

"Who are you, Mystery Man?" she implores one fine June evening.

"Why do you need to know?"

"Because we have been business partners for more than a month now! I think I have a right to know. At least give me a hint."

"All right, all right, stop whining."

He wonders for a moment.

"We had a very big argument in 1993," he says after a while.

She rolls her eyes.

"That doesn't help, okay? I have big arguments all the time."

"It was about Harry Potter," comes the muffled reply as he writes something on a parchment.

"That doesn't help either."

"Well, that's all you're getting, girly."

She quietens for a moment before firing again.

"You are in Slytherin, aren't you? All these mysterious ways..."

So, she is trying the House card now.

"No."

"Then you must be in Ravenclaw. All this surely requires a lot of hard work and brains."

"No." He is enjoying ruffling her up.

"Don't tell me you're in Hufflepuff!"

"Of course not!" He almost laughs at her words.

"Then you're in Gryffindor!" The glee in her voice is evident.

"No. Not a chance."

Her jaw drops open.

"Stop with the games! Just who are you?" she asks, clearly exasperated beyond measure.

Colin thinks for a second. He remembers what the Hat had told him on his first day:

 _"You could be at home in any one of the four Houses."_

It is a liar.

"I'm the wrench in the machine."

••••••••••

Dumbledore died two days ago. He still cannot bring himself to believe it. He has been right all along and now he and his brother will never be able to come back to Hogwarts.

They are looking out from a window in their abandoned meeting corridor, standing next to each other. The funeral took place earlier today. A hot, gusty summer wind is blowing outside after the morning's storm and he is still clad in his scarf, goggles and hat to protect his identity from her.

Colin can clearly see that she does not look her usual bossy and commanding self today. Her shoulders are hunched as she leans over the sill and she has not cared to brush her wavy hair. She does not look like Romilda Vane usually does.

"I guess this is it then," he tells her while gazing through the window.

"Yes. The end of an era." Her voice sounds normal, composed. But from his experience in the past month that he has got to know her, he can deduce the slight tinge of remorse and nostalgia coursing through Vane.

"The end of an era," he agrees after a brief moment. "We did have good times, though; you with the boys chasing after you and me earning money."

"And yet," she whispers, sounding very faraway and distant, "you never told me who you are. I never got to see who hides behind this long scarf and these large goggles. You never told me who the boy behind this mask is, who Anonymous Dark Master of Potions is."

" _Do not_ call me that or any other names that you may fancy," he grumbles strictly, making her smile weakly. "And I did tell you!" he counters. "I told you that we had a very big argument in 1993, didn't I?"

"And I told you that that doesn't help me in finding the answer!"

"You aren't getting any more hints."

"Let's not fight, okay?" she pleads. "Not today, please. It's our last day together. I don't know if you'll even come back to finish what we started here."

"I won't," he says evenly. "Somewhere all my darkest dreams are gathering. I can't escape my nightmares."

Her face looks sick, as if lightening has just struck her, but she does away with the expression quickly.

"You're a Muggle-born, aren't you, Anonymous Dark Master of Potions?"

He grits his teeth at her repeated usage of the irritating name, not that she can see him doing it with his scarf in the way. Colin does not reply.

Vane takes a small step towards him, closing the distance between them and her eyes meet his in a strangely piercing gaze - a stare which penetrates the layer of the dark tinted glass between them. He knows she really cannot watch his eyes, but somehow his heart skips a beat because it feels like she is doing exactly that.

"I may not know who you are, but I do know that I have to thank you for making me your ally and seeing me as your equal. And I know only one way to go about that."

Before he can realise what is happening, she has tugged down his scarf to expose his lips, yanked his head down to her level and molded her soft lips to his chapped ones. He does not know what to do. He has never been kissed and he has no idea how to go about it, but she solves this for him as she pushes him into the wall, grabs his hands and places them on her hips, all the while kissing him senseless. Her body feels soft and warm against his. She places her hands in his trouser's pockets. He can taste her fruity ChapStick. It is a heady sensation.

His eyes drift close and he finds himself thinking that Ginny Weasley is the one snogging the daylights out of him. It is chaos. It is incredible.

A sudden slim finger just behind his ear tries to remove his goggles and this action brings him back to reality. He pulls himself away from her.

"I can see what you were trying to do there, Vane," he speaks in between pants, not realising that he has not re-done his scarf and that she can hear his untainted voice for the very first time.

She is grinning like the Cheshire Cat and her skin is glimmering with sweat, her wavy black hair framing her oval face. If he had not been so much in love with Ginny, he would have definitely told Vane that she is looking beautiful.

"That was my parting gift to you!" She giggles and then quickly contains it. Being serious does not suit her. _He_ does not like her being serious. "Promise me that you'll survive this war and come looking for me. And then we'll have many exciting adventures together." Her brown eyes look unusually bright and her head bends down.

Colin forces her to look up by lifting her chin with his left hand's fingers. He thinks about Ginny and how she is never going to be his. Yes, she might have finally talked to him two days ago but that was probably because of the shock she must have been in due to the state of events. In her shock, she must have forgotten of her ire regarding him. Otherwise, she had no reason to talk to him.

He knows that the two of them would never go back to being be what they had been - best friends. She would always be Harry's now and that would always act as a sore point for him. Perhaps his future lies in selling potions with Gypsy Girl.

"I will, Romilda Vane."

"You better, _Colin Creevey_."

He freezes. She is smiling stupidly and he wants to wipe it off her confident face.

"How...?"

"You know, I had my suspicions from the beginning. Why do you think I even came in the first place? By the way, recognise this?" She hands him out a Muggle ballpoint pen - specifically, his prized Parker. The sneaky, little minx must have taken it out of his pocket while kissing him!

He promptly tries to snatch it back but she is too fast for him. Vane dodges him easily and somehow manages to remove his hat. She flings it to the ground in a fluid motion and runs a hand through his mousey brown hair, mussing it up in the process. Then she quickly pulls away his goggles and her wicked, sparkling eyes meet his tired, dull ones with those awful dark circles underneath them for the first time, but the entrancing moment is ephemeral. He catches hold of her wrists but she manages to free herself and starts sprinting down the corridor.

"Give me my things back, Vane!"

"Take them if you can, Creevey!"

Oh yes, he is definitely going to survive and then come back to teach this girl a lesson.

As Colin breaks into a run after Romilda, he does not know that he would never ever be able to keep his promise to her.

. . . ...

 **Edit, 19/05/2016: The Macmillan mentioned in here is NOT Ernie Macmillan, it is Lewis Macmillan, an OC. You might or might not assume him to be related to Ernie. Same goes for Higgs. It's Timmy Higgs, NOT Terence Higgs.**

. . . ...

 _ **End Notes:**_

• **Suggested additional readings:**

 **1\. Gasoline**

 **2\. State Of Decay**

 **3\. Firewhiskey And Fireplaces**

 **4\. Choking On Unspoken Words**

 **. . . ...**

• **References:**

 **i. Title and bracketed Subtitle - 'Nightmares' by Chameleon Circuit**

 **ii. '...His mind is like a deadly disease...' - 'Control' by Halsey**

 **iii. "I'm the wrench in the machine." - derived from the idiom, 'Throw a wrench in the works'**

 **. . . ...**

• **Canon references:**

 **I. Twilight Moonbeams: A love potion sold by Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes**

 **. . . ...**

• **Meanings of the original spells used:**

 **a.** _ **Adiuro Vos Hoc**_ **\- With this I bind you**

 **. . . ...**

 **When I first started this, I had never thought that this story would end up being this long. I hope that you found it something different to read. Please tell me what do you think about it. Thanks! :D**


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